Paper Faces on Parade
by b4tmans
Summary: Unaware of their other halves being present, the girls spent their time at the ball wishing for them to be there. Little did they know, they actually were. Bruce/OC, Bane/OC. Written with ecto1B.


**A/N: Sooooooo this lovely work of fiction was done by ecto1B and I over the course of a few minutes. I guess you could say we do this a lot. Her OC, Monty, has quite the fling with Batman, while my OC, Fiona, has quite the fling with Bane. You can find more about them in the stories _Bat Appetit_ by ecto1B and _Criminal Habits_ by yours truly. I suggest you check them both out, especially ecto's!**

* * *

_**Paper Faces On Parade,**_

_**Masquerade.**_

Why she was at a masquerade ball, Fiona had no idea.

Why she was wearing a _dress_, she had no idea.

Why she wasn't _fleeing_ for her _life_, Fiona had no damn idea.

But she _wasn't_. Fiona stayed put, in her strapless sequin gown with the "flirty" side slit up her leg, so the store had claimed. She stayed put, leaning against one of the far walls, blending in with the marble sconces and pillars that lined the room. She stayed put, constantly heaving the bodice of her dress to hide what she could of her cleavage. At least in one spot she couldn't trip over the dress's small train, and no one would catch a glimpse of her ankle tattoos. She'd seen people already eyeing the few she couldn't hide on her back; there wasn't anything Fiona could've done to prevent the stares. Her best bet was to grin and bear it, hide the tattoos against the wall, and hope no man with a sycophantic smile would try and whisk her to the dance floor.

At least she could enjoy the music from where she stood. It wasn't her favorite genre, but Fiona found the gentle sway of the orchestra's classical pieces quite relaxing. Briefly, she could forget about the knife strapped to her upper thigh (just in case something happened), the events of the day previous, and the boss she tried so desperately to impress.

Her thoughts had just delved inside the haste piano of Mozart's "Turkish March" when a gentleman approached her. He, like the other patrons of the ball, wore an ornate masquerade mask over his eyes, making it near impossible to identify him, but this man, unlike the others, wore a freshly pressed tux instead of the gaudy "old-fashioned" robes everyone else wore. Because of this, his mask seemed completely out of place.

"Ma'am." Minutely, he dipped his head. Fiona studied his eyes, trying to place the brown orbs to a full face as he went on. He had handsome eyes… "Might I ask you to dance? I'd hate to see a pretty girl like you spend the night alone."

If he'd intended to sound suggestive, Fiona paid him no mind. He was obviously trying to fit in with the 1700s-esque ball with his phrasing. Perhaps the words had slipped. She, on the other hand, had no intention of acting medieval.

"Why not?"

He offered her his arm, and she took it firmly.

The grip was… familiar.

The arm musculature was… familiar.

She didn't dare ask him his identity. That would result in him wishing for _hers_, and there was no way in _hell_ she was taking off her mask, not for anyone. Especially not in front of so many people. Her face was already dotting the pages of newspapers around the city, smack dab beside Bane's.

_Speaking of Bane… he'd kill me if he knew I was here._

The man led her out to the center of the marble floor, moving as gracefully as a man of his build could. Even beneath the tuxedo, Fiona detected thick shoulders and a brawny chest. _He'd probably get along well with Bane._

Mozart's "Turkish March" was reaching its halfway point. The man put a hand on her waist, and took her hand with the other. She, in turn, rested her free hand on his shoulder.

They began to dance.

"I have to say, it's a rarity to find such a beautiful woman at a ball like this," he commented, following the other dancers in their movements. "Even with a mask, your elegance is radiant."

_He's almost as poetic as Bane._

"Thanks," Fiona tried, fighting a blush on her cheeks. _What? I don't blush! Fuck. I have to make up for that._ "How many girls have you said that to tonight?"

He smiled. "You're quick. I like that, as well." He paused. "And none, actually. You're the first woman I've been lucky enough to speak to all evening."

The song was over, and Beethoven's luxurious "Moonlight Sonata" grew in volume. To match the pace, the mysterious man slowed their movements, and soon he and Fiona were languidly stepping across the floor.

"This is a beautiful song," Fiona said, breaking the awkward silence. "One of my favorite pieces of his."

"Of Beethoven's?" Mystery Man chuckled. "I never would have pegged you as a classical fan. Elegant women like you usually prefer jazz."

She shrugged. "I'm not usual, then."

Mystery Man's eyes narrowed faintly. "No. You're not."

The night continued. After "Moonlight Sonata" came "The Marriage of Figaro," and soon the entire ballroom was alive with swirls, laughs, and cheers. The upbeat, fun song gave way to Rossini's "Barber of Seville," and for the rest of the night, Fiona and the Mystery Man wound up dancing to every single song, not leaving each other's side even once.

Fiona was shocked that she was having _fun_ at this ball.

At last, the sweat had started permeating through the makeup on her forehead.

"I'm… gonna go get some drinks…" she panted, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll… be right back."

Mystery Man nodded, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "All right. I'll meet you here."

Fiona turned.

Mystery Man gasped.

"Fiona?"

_Shit. My tattoos._

_Wait._

_He recognizes my tattoos._

She whipped back around and studied him.

"B-Bane?"

Besides the fast-paced chaos of "Sabre Dance" blaring nearby, things were silent between the two.

"Don't take off your mask," Bane rasped. "I won't take off mine." Slowly, he stepped closer to her. His large hands took hold of her shoulder as he peeked at her back tattoos. "It's you. I don't forget marks like that." He looked her straight in the eye. "What are you doing here?"

She explained.

He frowned.

"I'm here in place of one of our _clients_," he said. "Remember the man we took care of yesterday? He's supposed to be here. I decided to stand in for him."

Fiona reached up and placed a hand atop his mouth.

"Your mask."

"I'm surviving without it." Lightly, he kissed her fingertips. "Don't worry. I'll be fine for a few more hours."

As if spurred on by his words, Fiona smiled. "A few more hours," she echoed. "Does that mean you'd be willing to dance with me a few more times?"

Just as she'd echoed his words, he copied her grin. "Of course. Now that we know who we are…"

The evening faded into a cool abyss of classical music and dance. As was to be expected, the final song was a slow, gentle tune, just enough to have the couples fall into their partner's arms and wish for sleep.

Bane and Fiona, however, had other ideas.

* * *

Monty was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.

Clutching the slim, crystal champagne glass in her right hand, Monty gingerly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting her fingers fiddle with the slom earrings hanging from her lobes. Straightening her shoulders, she flashed a smile at an elderly man who hobbled by her before adjusting the porcelain mask which rested on the bridge of her nose and clung to her cheeks.

The Masquerade, one of Bruce Wayne's charity balls, had been quite the hit. _De Luca_'s had been hired for catering, so Monty saw fit to accompany her staff to the ball, joining in on the fun while she was there. Monty _was_ having a good time, but the simple woman found no enjoyment in mingling with the men and women of the upper class, and to be completely honest, she was anxious to do so.

"Monty!" a woman called over, waving and smiling at her, "Come here, darling!"

Tossing back the rest of her champagne, Monty sighed quietly, placing the glass on a waiter's tray as he scooted by. Watching her steps, Monty quickly crossed the marble floor, weaving in and out of party guests to get to her destination.

The woman who had called her over was on the older side, smiling and laughing with a few other guests who looked oddly familiar. Of course, Monty figured, she never would have been able to tell who was who. Their masks were well done and over the top. The woman was Ms. Pennyworth, Alfred's wife.

"My, my, Monty! You look _beautiful!_ Look at this dress!"

The group cooed as the woman played with the hem, letting the golden fabric sway slightly. Monty laughed anxiously, her smile craning on the edge of modest and nervous.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pennyworth, you look beautiful as well."

"Have you seen the boys? I haven't spotted them at all tonight!" she yelped, placing a hand over her heart, "I worry about those two. Always playing in the corridors!"

Monty laughed, and shook her head. "I haven't seen them, but if I do, I'll tell you. If you'll excuse me, I've got to go help with the food."

"Oh! Of course! Go, help!"

Monty nodded, quickly scurrying from the pish posh of the group, retreating to the table where waiters and employees gathered to serve the food. Monty approached, flashing them all a smile. No words were exchanged, only nods and smiles from Monty to her employees.

She eyed the food, checking everything once more, before sighing and grabbing yet another glass of champagne from a waiter. She knew she could only avoid the party goers for so long. Suddenly, the music seemed to pick up pace, and couples were drawn to the floor, the hands clasping tightly and bodies pulled close. The slow dancing was elegant and flowing, and Monty found herself in a daze as she watched quietly.

That was when she spotted him.

He was leaning against one of the pillars, a dark suit, a dark dress shirt and a off white tie dressing his body. She shuffled, her eyes flicking to the black mask covering his eyes and nose, the porcelain shining under the grand chandelier. Brown hair was slicked back, and his hands were in his pockets. He looked familiar, and suddenly, Monty found herself wanting to dance with him.

She cursed, sipping her champagne and shaking her head.

She was just a cook, and he was probably looking for some high and mighty woman with a lot of money.

She dismissed the table of food quickly, ignoring the laughter of a woman who was speaking beside her. Lingering over to the marble column, Monty slowly leaned against it. The cool stone made her arm grown taunt with goosebumps as the orchestra rumbled on, it's slow and steady pace making her heart swell with happiness. Classical music always had its ways with her, bringing her out of even the saddest moods. Soon, her heeled foot was tapping to the slow beat and her fingers drumming on the crystal glass.

"Excuse me?"

Monty jumped, her eyes flying to the man beside her. It was him, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome.

He smiled at her.

"Uh... H-Hi," Monty swallowed, giving a small smile of her own.

"I couldn't help but notice... You're alone," the man laughed sheepishly, "Would you like to dance?"

Monty's eyes widened, "Me? You... You want to..."

Her voice faltered and she nodded quickly, placing her glass on a tray once more as she scooted by, taking the man's hand. Gently, he squeezed her hand, the other arm slipping below to clutch her waist as the music picked up, a violin piercing the air.

The tempo was faster now, and Monty found herself smiling at the fast pace the man laid down. She stepped in tune with him, grinning down at their synced footwork. She caught a small smile on the man's face as he watched her, and Monty blushed.

"You seem familiar."

Monty's eyes lit up, "I do?"

"Mm," he nodded, "I know a lot of women, but _you_ certainly stand out."

A grin played with Monty's lips as his arm tugged her closer. She didn't mind as much as she should have, enjoying the warmth of his body.

"Well, that's good. I do like making impressions."

He laughed, his dark eyes sparkling with a familiar twinkle. She paused for a moment, her mouth slightly agape as she fought to find the right words. The twinkle gave it away. It was one saved for her, one she got on the weekends when she spent time with _him. _She settled, "I think I know you."

"Oh really?"

"Mmhm."

He grinned once more, spinning her slightly before retracting and pulling her flush against him, "Please elaborate."

"The stature. The eyes. The smirk," she rattled off, grinning, "You're Bruce Wayne."

Bruce laughed loudly.

"God, you're good, Monty."

Monty's mouth dropped, "How'd you know... _Ah_. Right."

_He's the Batman. Best detective in Gotham City._

Bruce laughed again, pulling the woman flush against his chest and cradling her more, his face buried into her curled hair. A kiss was placed there and Monty grinned, her arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug. It was comfortable like this, and this was what Monty loved. His outright and bold affections.

"You know Mrs. Pennyworth told me to tell her when I found you."

He silenced her with a peck on the lips. "She knows. Alfred is dancing with her."

Monty grinned, nodding happily.

"Good. Now, dance with me, Mr. Wayne.

He kissed her again, this time for longer. Grinning ear to ear, Bruce nodded.

"You taste like champagne."

* * *

"Did _you_ pick out that dress?" Bane muttered, fumbling to carry her into the back of the limo he'd hired (the limo he'd most likely _stolen_, actually). His fingers had already suctioned beneath the side slit, massaging the skin of her thighs with careful precision. "Black is a lovely color on you."

Their kisses were feverish. Fiona praised the limo's design, for the driver—whoever he was—was unable to see the two lovers tangled in each other's arms. Could he hear their moans?

At this point, she didn't care.

"I p-picked out the dress, yes," she managed weakly.

Bane kissed the spot just above the bodice.

"It's wonderful."

Smirking, Fiona reached and tugged the tux jacket from his body. "You know how y-you said you didn't want a p-pretty girl like me spend the night a-alone?"

He murmured a faint yes against her skin.

"Well." Fervently, she ran an aggressive hand across his chest. "I'd like to take you up on that offer."

* * *

Bruce ignored Monty's protests as she reached out and clawed at the air, despertately trying to escape the kisses being planted down her arm.

"Bye Alfred! I'll make sure he gets home on time!"

Alfred Pennyworth's face lit up into a smile, and he nodded, "You keep for as long as you want, Monty."

She saluted, taking her leave and slapping Bruce's chest as he led her into the limo.

"Oh come on. Have some patience, Bat boy."

Bruce's fingers laced themselves in her hair, his face latching to hers in a quick kiss.

"I can't. You get me too excited."


End file.
